


Digging Deep

by anderscones



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Other, Sherlock - Freeform, childhood AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 19:46:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anderscones/pseuds/anderscones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock deleted his past, and for good reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Digging Deep

**Author's Note:**

> Again, overly dramatic and angsty plot. Yes.

The Holmes Estate was practically a castle with its four stories, sitting on the edge of a forest that separated an almost mythical place from a small town. The cobbled path was kept beautiful and the garden was ever-changing, as it held a different theme every week. The old plants were moved into the confines of the stunning wooded area weekly, always making a walk through it a heavenly sight. A large tent top was spread across the lawn, creating shade for the obscene amount of people it would house. It was strung with all sorts of lights and a variety of decorations. Olivia Holmes was not one to celebrate birthdays, but Rose insisted that she threw a party for her sixtieth year on the planet. Like every other surviving Holmes, Olivia found this absurd, but went along with it for the sake of her life-long best friend.

Olivia Holmes invited her sons back to their childhood home days before any of the other guests would arrive. Sherlock wanted to decline coming altogether, but arguing with his mother never worked in his favor, so he decidedly humored her and came early, but not without John; like his mother, there was no way he would survive the unnecessary week without his own support system. John wanted to protest against Sherlock, wanted to tell him that it would be absurd for him to tag along to his mother’s birthday party at some posh mansion in the middle of next to nowhere for an entire week, but found that it was difficult (as were most things when it came to the younger Holmes brother). Sherlock never took no for an answer unless there was some way around it to make it a yes, and Dr. Watson was very aware of that, so he came.

The train ride was long, and John was thankful for the private booths. Sherlock was in a sulky mood due to having to go “home” in the first place, and it was a relief to not have people see a grown man act like a five year old, namely one that John was responsible for.

“Sherlock,” sighed John. “This week will be worse if you do not _grow up_ for a few days.”

“I have no desire to return to that wretched place.” Sherlock spat, sitting up from his moody position on the not-long-enough seats. “It holds terrible memories for me.” Melodrama had already sunk deeply into Sherlock’s dialogue.

“It really isn’t going to be that bad.”

“John, you truly have no idea what it will be like; we led completely opposite lives.” stated Sherlock, having a facial expression quite like that of a teenage girl.

“What sort of bad memories?” John humored.

“The sort I wish to forget. I have been successful in most of it, but an entire string of childhood summers is hard to completely and fully remove.” Sherlock sniffed, leaning his head back against the paneling.

“What could have possibly been so bad that you have to ‘delete’ half of your life?” John asked in a snipped tone.

Sherlock pointed his nose upwards and defiance colored his voice. “I don’t remember. Deleted it.”

John revolved his eyes and sighed, looking out of the window. Hills and trees rolled past the glass pane, hurtling them towards their destination. It was all beautiful to John while Sherlock clicked his tongue at the remoteness and the amount of nature it contained; he complained to John at least four times about how there would be no internet or phone service at his mother’s house. He also complained about having to deal with his brother being there every second of every day. Heaven forbid he actually bond with his family.

After about two more hours with a moody Sherlock, John was glad the ride was over. Sherlock perked up a small amount after stepping into an open space and seeing all of the new scenery. It was a change of pace, and Sherlock loved that. The journey, though, was not over, and the two men still had to catch a cab to finish the ride to the Holmes estate. Sherlock quickly became an angsty teenager again, averting his eyes to the ceiling of the car. John noticed that the small town rapidly disappeared and the road became surrounded by an arch of trees, sending the vehicle into a tunnel of brown and green. The road twisted and wound, eventually breaking through the forest and revealing a large house.

“This is… very nice.” John stated, feeling rather embarrassed at the enormity of the estate that sat ten yards in front of where he stood clutching his bags.

“I’m glad that you think so. I want to leave.” Sherlock scoffed, walking towards the large doors. Memories played in his mind, reminding him of the only person who made him feel welcome during his youth. The flashbacks were vivid in his vision, and he ignored the imagined bodies that played and ran alongside him.

The two were instantly greeted by a servant. He showed John to what would be his bedroom for the next week and a half while Sherlock stalked off to his old room. The detective and doctor were silently upset by not being closer to each other, as John was shown all the way across the mansion. Sherlock hadn’t seen the necessity of it since there were plenty of other rooms that were closer to the main set of stairs. He began unpacking, neatly yet angrily throwing clothes into drawers. Light footsteps echoed in the hallway outside of his door, and prepared quips that would soon be used. The knob turned, and Sherlock faced away from the frame and set about organizing the drawers.

“Go away, you insufferable nuisance.” He snapped over his shoulder.

“That is no way to greet your mother.” Olivia said quietly, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Sherlock spun around and immediately skipped towards his mother, pulling her into a slight embrace. “That wasn’t mean for you.” He said.

“Even so, you shouldn’t talk to anybody like that, especially your older brother,” Olivia replied, releasing her son, knowing full well who the outburst was aimed at. She stared into his face. “I see that you’re still not eating right.”

“Well enough. I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Sherlock grinned back.

Olivia sighed and beamed despite herself. “Just barely. Come downstairs for lunch. Bring your friend, too. I’m sure he’s starved and I want to meet him. Mycroft says,” Sherlock scoffed. “He’s been good for you.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “For once, he is right about something.” He set off to retrieve John, sidling past his mother. Flashbacks once again colored his mind, the two children walking down the same hallways and babbling away at one another. He kept his chin up, ignoring that the children became silvery teenagers giggling and clinging to each other for support. _Maybe they will leave if I choose to not acknowledge them._ Thought Sherlock painfully. As he passed them, they disappeared, sending the body of the grey boy hurtling further down the hall in a swirl, stopping him in the doorway to John’s room. He was clutching the frame, his chest heaving aggressively. Sherlock stopped and bore his eyes into the younger version of himself panic. John opened the door, bringing Sherlock back to the present. John grinned.

“Oh, hey.” John stated. “I was about to come looking for you. This place is enormous. I may need a tour to-“

“Ask Mycroft. Mummy had lunch prepared for us and she wants to meet you.” Sherlock interrupted quickly, letting the word ‘Mummy’ accidentally slip, turning on his heel.

John stood in the doorway for a moment, and then hurried to catch up with his friend. “Right,” he muttered. “Bad memories.”

They took a long hallway back to the balcony that overlooked the foyer, and John stopped to admire the view. The rich woodwork was painted white and contrasted nicely with the dark wood floors. The arches curved with intricate carvings and settled into simple rounded mock columns closer to the bottom. The windows were tall and let in a large amount of sunlight into the house, bouncing off of every surface. A large (more than likely antique) rug sat in the middle of the floor, leaving rich, scarlet threads to compliment the white and dark brown. John reveled and soaked in the marvelous sight and thoroughly enjoyed it. It made him feel welcome and at peace, which doubled with the light silence accompanied by the bright nature-filled noises that flew into the open windows.

Sherlock, however, felt like flinging himself over the edge of the rail. The entire room was filled with the visions of his past, the teenagers helping the children around the room. Two of the older children were studying on the set of stairs on the left of him, and two teenagers were mirroring them on the pair to the right. He knew exactly which was studying what: the children were looking through notebooks of Astronomy and the teens were buried in a textbook, teaching themselves Russian. A seven year old girl was trying to convince an eight year old boy to play tag with her. He refused vigorously and suggested that they investigate the plants that were just placed in the garden. The young girl agreed happily to the suggestion, and skipped off with him. He started to feel sick when he saw the large door slamming shut, leaving behind a dejected nineteen year old boy.

“Sherlock?” John asked in a hushed tone, sensing tension.

He snapped out of it, shaking his head a little bit. “Come.” He wanted to lead John down one of the sets of stairs, but stopped short, trying to decide which image to disturb. He chose the left side, and hurried between the preteens that sat at the bottom.

The two took another hallway that went straight into the large dining room. The kitchen door hung off the far end of the chamber, where servants were still carrying trays of food and drinks to the table. Sherlock skipped to the edge of the table and took a seat adjacent to his mother, who sat at the very end of the table. John assumed that the empty seat directly across from Sherlock was for Mycroft, and took the chair that was on Sherlock’s right.

“Mother, this is John.” Sherlock hummed happily, sweeping his arm towards his best friend.

John smiled meekly and talked in a small voice. “Hello.”

“Good afternoon, John. I’m Olivia,” She smiled back warmly. “How was the ride?”

Olivia and John proceeded to carry on with their small talk and Sherlock stared intently out of the side door, barely listening to the lies John spouted about ‘how wonderful the ride was’ and sipped at the water in the thin glass in his hand. Amongst the movers were more silvery figures flitting about the yard. The toddlers ran in between the legs of the men as teenagers laid in the grass, staring at the clouds above them, identifying which ones looked like what chemical reactions. The girl pointed out one with her left hand, and brought it back down to her side, brushing the boy’s wrist. He went completely still, and the girl sensed it; she picked up his hand and started examining his fingers, and then looked lower down his arm. She turned her head, and her face went completely grave, whispering frightened words at him. He relaxed, but his face became blank. Sherlock knew he was upset because he was being upsetting. She sat up, pulling him with her, and looked into his face deeply, cupping his jaw with both hands. She swallowed as tears rushed down her ch- _crunch._

Sherlock snapped his head away from the door and stared down at his right hand, blinking at the tears that formed in his own eyes. Small glass crystals were embedded into his hands and on the table. Blood rushed down his palm and onto the table cloth. “Oh.” He coughed, feeling embarrassed by the emotions.

“Sherlock, sweetheart.” Olivia muttered, standing up and dabbing at him with a napkin.

John stared. He had never seen Sherlock behave as strangely as he had been since they arrived. It worried him. He watched as people surrounded him, trying to fix his hand. Water was poured and glass was picked out with tweezers. The table cloth was ripped away from the slab after the still-full glasses were removed and replaced. Mycroft came through the hallway and stopped in the opening to the dining room. Sherlock made eye contact for just a moment with his companion and then quickly looked away. John saw the pain that made its’ home there, and realized that it really _was_ as bad as Sherlock thought it would be.

 

 

Sherlock fought sleep. He hadn’t slept in three days, and it was taking a toll on him. He was absolutely exhausted, and was not excited for the slumber that would soon over take his body. He knew that if he were to dream, it would only become a nightmare, sending him back into his painful childhood. He hopelessly deleted every memory he held, but they always came back somehow, like someone had crept into his into his mind palace and planted them again after they were removed. Being in his old home did not help, either; it only intensified the visions. Every time he almost nodded off in his notebook of splatters, he would sit straighter in his seat and open his eyes wider. Sherlock knew that it was useless, but did it, anyway. Eventually, he officially slipped under, and the sleep induced play-backs that would seem happy and peaceful to anybody else, were _terrifying_ to him. The dreams were fuzzy and colorful, holding a relaxing mood. Two children were sitting inside of a grassy cavern, inspecting the flowers and budding blades. Sherlock woke with a start, and stood swiftly, heading towards the bathroom that hung off of his bedroom. He opened the cabinet, and fished out sleeping pills, hoping that the sleep they would cause would be a dead one, and enough to hold him over until the week ended.

 

 

The first day of the week-long event was mostly people arriving and being shown to their rooms. Sherlock watched the commotion from his doorway, deducing people endlessly to defeat his boredom. Most of the people were plain and boring, not keeping Sherlock’s attention for too long. At one point, a woman whom he could not remember but seemed very familiar to him was showing people to the rooms in the hallway. She approached him after she led her last guest to his room.

“Oh, Sherlock. Your mother wasn’t joking when she said you grew into a handsome man.” She stated, her large brown eyes twinkling. _American._ He thought. _Right. Of course. Rose._

He merely nodded, and she left, feeling the coolness that was directed towards her.

 

 

The second day was even worse, and Sherlock stayed inside of his room, not wanting any contact with the other guests who annoyed him endlessly. Breakfast was called, and they all flooded out of their rooms, so he shut his door and locked it, unhappy that his room was the closest to the main stairs. Eventually, a small knock came to the wood that separated him from the simpletons that his mother felt needed to be invited. He kept completely still, not wanting to show that he hadn’t left his room.

“I know you’re in there, Sherlock,” John commented through the door. “Come out.”

“Why?” Sherlock loudly spat back.

“Because, you idiot, you haven’t eaten at all since we’ve gotten here.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and complied, opening his door and rushing past John.

 

 

The third day officially started the celebration. The previous two days were to make sure people were comfortable and accommodated well enough with the estate. The tent was set up completely at this point, and Sherlock dragged himself out of his room once again, except at night this time. The “official” time that the activities were started was an hour before, but he didn’t feel like being the first one down to it.

Sherlock passed plenty of people that littered the hallways, yet only Mycroft caught his eye. He shook his head and kept walking, ignoring him completely. He reached the dining room and walked out the side door. The lawn was filled with a mess of people eating and drinking their sobriety away. It disgusted Sherlock, and he continued to walk underneath the large tent-top. The underneath of it was illuminated by navy Chinese lanterns, which cast an almost eerie blue glow. The blue light transitioned to a warm white one, and then back again to a blue. It almost seemed like a fire was burning the underside of the tent. He spotted John and made his way over.

“Your mother,” John began through his buzzed voice. “Really does throw a really good party. There’s so much food! Then again, when you have all the money in the world…” he trailed off, silencing himself with a sip from his champagne flute.

There really was a lot of food- roasted pork, parmesan chicken, spaghetti, jacket potatoes, pineapple upside down cake, Cajun chicken, Korean rice, flan. There were three course meals for every type of ethnicity, and it was all out on a buffet table. Not to mention the selection of alcoholic drinks. The finest champagnes and wine were set on display and were frequently being poured by waiters. Every hue imaginable sat on the table parallel to the food, and an entire gradient scale could have been made.

“Yes. I suppose. Though, it’s not exactly my mother who threw it.” Replied Sherlock in a clipped voice.

“Yeah?”

“It was mine.” An American woman’s voice appeared behind them.

Sherlock swallowed and hardened his face. He turned to see a curly head and multicolored eyes with a heart shaped mouth and round face.

“Oh?” John asked, surprise coloring his tone.

“Yes.” Sherlock answered for Elouise, turning to John. “Rose.”

“Right,” John nodded, moving his head between Sherlock and Elouise, noting that she was staring right at the detective. Sherlock turned his gaze to her after a moment. John felt uncomfortable. “So, uhm…”

“Hello, Sherlock.” Ellie bounced brightly, smiling sweetly.

“Why are you here?” Sherlock demanded of her, his voice cool.

“Mummy Holmes invited me. She’s sweet to do so, don’t you think?” she replied, still in a happy, excited way.

“She’s not your ‘mummy.’” Snapped Sherlock angrily.

“Oh, please. She loved me like I was her daughter.” She laughed, rolling her eyes.

Sherlock appeared very visibly upset. “Right, so you’re here because _mummy_ invited you, but why are you _here?_   Next to _me._ ”

“I can’t come say hi to someone who was so involved my life?” asked Ellie in a mock-hurt whisper.

John realized that whoever this woman was, she had something to do with Sherlock’s ‘ruined’ childhood.

Sherlock made his tone aggressive. “Why don’t you say hello to mother, then? She was a constant in your life, was she not?”

“Because I already _did._ And I was never introduced to Dr. Watson here. Mycroft _boringly_ made a point of finding me and telling me about how you adventure together.” Implication invaded her voice. She turned to John, grasping his chin in one hand and squeezing his cheeks together. “You seem interesting enough.” Her tone became full of mockery and jest. “Having a good day?”

Sherlock swiftly knocked her hand away. “Don’t touch him.” He growled.

Elouise raised her eyebrows challengingly. “I’ll touch him if I so please.” She reached for him again, grabbing at his chest and staring at Sherlock.

“Now, hang on-“

“Elouise.”

“Sherlock.” she positioned herself rather close to John’s body, making him feel very uncomfortable about being a rag doll.

“You’re being ridiculous, El-“

“Am I? You’re jealous.”

“I am not. Stop- _stop touching him._ ” Sherlock hissed, trying to bat at her; she merely moved the two of them out of his reach.

“Since you’re not, then you won’t be upset if I kiss him?”

“Can you let me go, yeah?” pleaded John, trying to squirm from the girl’s death grip.

“Of course I wouldn’t be upset.” Sherlock bounced back, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms.

Ellie put her face quickly to Johns, their lips almost touching. Sherlock jumped at her bluff, uncrossing himself and alarm filling his face.  “’ _Of course I wouldn’t be upset._ ’” She mocked and released John.

“Go away, John, I’d like to have a word with _Elouise._ ” Sherlock stated, his eyes on her and emphasizing her full name.

“Yes,” John coughed. “Yeah, right. Sure.” He was severely confused by what had just happened and walked off towards the alcohol table. _Why are all of the Holmes’ so overtheatrical?_

“You’re such a child. Why are you here? Other than her inviting you. _Why are you here._ ” Sherlock growled.

“You really just want me to say that I missed you, don’t you?” Ellie asked smugly, smirking.

“I really just want you to leave. Now.”

She sighed and rubbed at her jaw. “You don’t want to admit that you missed me back. It’s okay to-“

Sherlock interrupted. “No, it’s absolutely not okay, because I didn’t _miss you_. You’re an awful human being, you know that, Ellie?”

“Ellie, huh? I must not be so bad if you’re having trouble remembering to call me by my full name.” She quipped at the tall man.

Sherlock stopped short. “You’re not forgiven.”

“And I’m not forgotten, either. Some part of you still cares about me since you didn’t forget about me. We both know how easily you could.” Ellie sighed, a somber look creeping into her face.

“None of your business.” Sherlock replied in a cracked voice, not wanting to admit that he _had_ tried and completely failed.

                The two stared at each other for a moment. “So, John? He seems nice. Someone other than me chooses you for company?” Ellie continued in a light tone, looking away.

                “Yes.” Sherlock said mildly.

                “He’s important to you.” She nodded towards him.

                “Of course he is.” Sherlock snapped stiffly.

                “Does he feel the same?”

                He turned to look at her searching eyes, knowing that he couldn’t escape the conversation. He never could seem to avoid anything with Elouise. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

                Ellie clicked her tongue at him. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

                “Do what?” Sherlock asked innocently, trying to keep his guard up.

                “Make yourself less important than you are. It’s extremely annoying; I want to smack the hell out of you for it, sometimes. Though I might hurt myself trying, seeing how you’re all bones and angles.” She snickered, digging a finger in his side. It earned a laugh from Sherlock, who quickly composed his face. He cursed at himself for letting her melt his defenses so easily.

                “I’m almost sure. After my… disappearance, he took life very hard for a while.” He replied.

                “Not one-hundred percent sure? The great Sherlock Holmes isn’t completely positive?” she mocked in a pseudo surprised tone, looking up at him. He smiled.

                “It’s complicated.” Something told him that letting her in so willingly could cause a disaster. Letting her in should have made him uneasy, but it didn’t.

                Ellie began walking away. “Oh. Right. I’ll be back.”

                “Elouise, no.” Sherlock started, losing the smile and becoming tense.

                “Beg me. Beg me to stop.” She challenged, halfway across the tent and still walking, her flowery printed t-shirt dress flowing behind her. When he said nothing, she spoke again. “No? All right.” Approaching John, who was currently asking for his flute to be refilled, she chattered at his back. “Oh, hello. Tell me about Sherlock. What do you see in him?”

Confusion dripped in his voice as he turned. “Sorry, what?”

“What do you like about Sherlock?” she asked again.

“Err.”

“Okay, next question; do you have a girlfriend? A wife maybe?” inquired Ellie.

“Not at the moment, no…” replied John, unsure of how he should answer.

“Really? That’s surprising to me. You’re handsome and charming enough.” She twisted her face in surprise.

John shook his head. “You’re too young.”

Elouise smiled, blushing slightly. “I’m really not as young as you think, but flatter me; how old do you think I am?”

John misunderstood again. “Definitely not old enough.”

She giggled, trying to draw something out of the man. “Old enough for what?” the two stared at each other for a moment. “Oh, come on, John. You’re smart; Sherlock only surrounds himself with such people.”

“No.”

“‘No’ what? Of course you’re-“

John interrupted. “You are half my age and I don’t like this game you’re playing.”

“Oh. You _will_ flatter me, I see.” Ellie finally realized what John was saying. “OH. OH. I do see, actually. What I said to Sherlock earlier about kissing you was a joke; no need to worry. I’m over here because a certain little birdy told me to go away, and I don’t know anyone else here, other than Mycroft, and I can’t stand him.”

“Oh.” John replied flatly, feeling slightly embarrassed that he assumed incorrectly.

“Yeah. Thanks for the flattery, though.” Ellie dropped the bubbly tone and traded it for a more conversational one. “I’m actually only a year younger than Sherlock.”

“Really? How do you even know him? You’re not from-“

“Yeah, I know. We grew up together, actually. Kind of.” Ellie grabbed a drink of her own and sat down at a near-by table.

“Oh?”

“During the summers, my mother would just drop me off at this house. My mom and Mummy Holmes were pretty close during college, so we visited England a lot.” Ellie stared straight at John with her captivating eyes, sipping out of her glass. “Eventually, she stopped coming and just sent me here. Wasn’t really a problem because it was nice. I had my own room and everything.” John continued to listen intently, trying to scrape any information about her that he could, hoping for something to unlock Sherlock’s past. “Good thing I was really young when we first started coming; if I was anything older than five, I probably wouldn’t be able to stand Sherlock. We were toddlers, so I kind of grew into the thought that people were supposed to be ridiculous like him and Mycroft.”

John spoke cautiously. “He’s never mentioned you…”

Ellie started flatly. “I didn’t expect him to; I stopped coming after he went off to university. There was really no point since I was going to college in the States. I also did… something very not good.” John supposed that ‘not good’ was an ElliexSherlock thing before it was a JohnxSherlock thing. “I mean, yeah, we spent _a lot_ of time together over, like, seventeen years, just the two of us, but after that point, we really never talked again.” Elouise swallowed and pursed her lips. “There was a time when Mycroft got a hold of me to tell me about a crazy overdose Sherlock had, but that was about fifteen years ago.”

“Overdose?” John questioned, though not very surprised.

Ellie raised her eyebrows. “You knew he was into drugs, right?” She side smirked. “Of course you did. Well, cocaine was definitely his Achilles heel in that time; that’s what he overdosed on when he was twenty-one. I’m sort of upset that he didn’t start drugs sooner, when we were still in touch.”

John looked at her incredulously. “ _What?_ ”

She waved a hand in the air, dismissing his thoughts. “No, no, not like that. I mean, I feel like I would have been able to stop him, made him see how… not worth it it was, you know?” Ellie frowned and furrowed her eyebrows. “Like I could have talked him out of it all before it got really bad. I was the person who knew him the best, and I had an arrogant thought in my head about me being some sort of ridiculous hero. He didn’t have friends at that time, and I could tell by the fact that the three days he was in the hospital, I was the only one to show up.” Elouise stopped and added quietly. “I know because I never left that room.”

John sighed. “Well.”

She began bitterly. “Yeah. I kinda beat myself from time to time for not being there. When Mycroft called me again about two years ago after his stupid fake-death stunt, I couldn’t forgive myself.” She scoffed inwardly. “I completely disappeared from his life and never talked to him after his big overdose.” Ellie paused, swirling her drink. “There was so much time wasted, and I thought he was dead, no time to try to fix things. I wanted to go to his funeral, but it seemed out of place. I had no right being there, and I knew that.” She sipped her drink again and talked lightly. “I kind of don’t want to miss out on anything with him now.”

“Yeah; he’s great to be around sometimes. Sometimes.” John said with a laugh.

“Sounds like him. He really hasn’t changed much, has he?” Elouise agreed.

“It doesn’t seem like it. He still acts like a prat at times, but I overlook it a lot.”

“Because he can be easy to forgive when you’re infatuated with him. It’s not like he does it on purpose, anyways.” She stopped and smiled. “I mean, sometimes he does, but...”

John ignored the remark about infatuation. “Yeah. He’s good somewhere in there. A lot of people can’t see that.”

“Of course not; they’re all _idiots._ ” She sounded exactly like Sherlock. “He’s boyfriend material, even. If you can handle him.”

John paused for a moment, contemplating his question. “Do you fancy him?”

Elouise was completely taken by surprise. “What? No. Do you?”

John jeered immediately. “Of course not.” He said indignantly.

Ellie nodded her head and looked away, hiding her face behind her glass, not yet taking another drink. “Right.”

He couldn’t believe what she was playing at. “What? We’re not that way.”

She continued with her insinuation. “Oh. Oh no. Course not.” Ellie took a long swig from her glass.

“I’m serious; we aren’t dating, and I haven’t thought about it. I’m not gay.”

She smiled and let a giggle creep into her voice. “If you were, would you take Sherlock home to your parents?”

John though about his parent’s reacting to Harry when she first dragged a girl home to a dinner; they paid no mind to it. It raised another question to John. “Only if they’d approve, which they wouldn’t.”

Elouise looked completely scandalized. “Why not? Are they homophobic? Because that is no-“

John immediately shook his head at her. “No, that’s not it.” He stopped, looking at the… _Christ, were they green or brown?_   eyes that stared almost directly into his soul. “He’s just a bit… quirky for them.” He became suspicious of the mention of Sherlock and himself again. “Is there something going on? Why are you talking about Sherlock and… relationships so much?”

Ellie refused to falter until she was absolutely certain that John was on board with her. “Why wouldn’t I be talking about him? Why _not_ Sherlock?” She hoped that it didn’t give anything away.

John raised his eyebrows and licked his lips absentmindedly. “Are you suggesting something? Because I told you; there’s nothing going on betw-

She became defensive at his remarks of an idea that she wasn’t even attempting to address. Ellie changed her tactics. “So what if I am? And you’re fooling no one; there is definitely something there.”

John shook his head, shocked by her audacity. “I’m sorry, but I’ve known you for a full five minutes, don’t you think you’re overstepping some sort of line here?”

“And I’ve known _Sherlock_ my entire life. Besides, why would five minutes matter? You _moved in_ with him after… what was it? A day?”

“That’s different. You’re-“

“Not Sherlock?” They both paused, Ellie waiting for a response and John looking for one. “Yeah. That’s exactly as I thought. You probably see things in him that not even I do, and I grew up with the asshole.”

“I see,” John hissed, trying to keep his temper. “That we’re not each other’s types.”

“There’s one of two genitals that Sherlock could be interested in, and I can tell you it’s not vagina. Is that the kind of type you are talking about?” Ellie asked nonchalantly on the outside, but fumed on the inside that this wasn’t going as she hoped.

                John gaped. “Excuse me?”

She rolled her eyes. “John, you act like you’ve never been a sixteen year old girl. We were living together, remember? He was attractive to me, and I was the closest he’d ever gotten to a girlfriend, which wasn’t even close to being that.” She was almost hurt from the memory.

He stopped for a minute. “That’s… not what I was asking, but alright. I’m not gay.”

“And that makes Sherlock less attractive somehow?”

“Okay, maybe if I wasn’t straight I’d-“ He tried, not wanting to seem offensive towards Sherlock; there was no denying that he was good-looking, but John didn’t feel that way about his best friend… did he?

Ellie barked out a humorless laugh and shook her head at the tent ceiling. “That’s your ‘if’? That’s the ‘if’ that is holding you back? Pathetic, truly pathetic, John. There are a million other things you could have said to reject him, and that’s the one you chose? Something so small and easily worked around?” She took in his angry, doubtful look and explained. “Being straight means nothing when you’re in love with someone. You can’t just stop being infatuated because, woah, that’s a dude, and he’s got a penis. You can be attracted to someone, even if your ‘preference’ says it’s impossible, because attraction doesn’t stop at cocks and cunts. That doesn’t even _matter, because you can’t just make feelings stop on command_ ; that’s not how it fucking works.” Ellie coughed aggressively at him, making John sit up straighter at the vulgar words that she used so casually since she seemed all too innocent in most of her other tones. She calmed down a bit. “Besides, sexuality means virtually nothing anymore in this world. You could be attracted to fire hydrants and there would be someone who would be cool with it. You’re refusing to admit to yourself that you might love possibly the _smartest_ and most _charming-_ when-he-wants-to-be man in the world who _obviously_ can’t keep himself away from you? _That’s a choice_ you made? Just because dick isn’t normally up your ass?”

 John found himself gaping widely again. He couldn’t believe the woman that sat across from him. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

 _Well,_ Ellie thought to herself. _Not the worst anyone’s called me._ Her face mirrored her thought. “At least I’m interesting.” She looked at the heated face across from her and knew it was time to go. “Listen, if I were you, I’d take the risk. Sherlock doesn’t have people who stick around, and that’s more or less by his own choice. If he didn’t want you around, you wouldn’t _be_ around, you know?” With that, she stood up and stalked towards the house, leaving John utterly bewildered and angry.

Sherlock appeared at his side. He had been watching –but not listening- the whole time. He read every emotion on their faces throughout the conversation, and came to a conclusion for John. “Aggravating, isn’t she?”

“That,” John almost snapped. “Is an understatement.”


End file.
